Orange Deficiency〆Jeon Jungkook

⋆fifty two

gangrene breaking down, collapse, decay.

Jungkook

It took much longer than anticipated for Taehyung to get a word out of me. I was an emotional wreck, and though the loud sobs that I first experienced, as if chocking on my own devastation wasn't enough, I grew numb. The pain rounded around it's edges. But, being numb was worse. It was being stuck in a box with your tongue ripped out your throat so you can't scream. I felt restricted, because I was too low to cry yet too high to fall asleep and drown everything out. Perhaps at one point my condition reached it's worse state. I could faintly recall Taehyung speaking to me like a minor, yet it wouldn't surprise me even if I'd died in the process. The shock I was undergoing was immense. It wasn't just shock; it was betrayal. Everything that had happened that day was a blur, but I could remember his face very clearly when he tried to seem apologetic. I didn't want to hear his explanation, what ever it might have been. Even if he was right and I was wrong, I couldn't care less about his silver-tongued self talking himself out of the situation I had encountered him in. As much as I'd trusted my mother, I distrusted him, though the disappointment I'd felt when facing my mother's scheme was significantly higher than when I met his face. Then again don't believe something until you see it for yourself. I'd seen it. Now I was stuck in a mess of uncomprehensive sentiments; anger, disappointment, sadness, melancholy, puzzlement. 

Taehyung had been quite the comforting friend too when he'd seen my state. He hadn't asked a single question until after my sobs faded out, and then when I didn't answer he waited another so long. He knew me well. He knew how I functioned. When I was ready, I would enitiate the talking myself. Even so, he'd sat there for hours, minutes; I'd lost track of time; in the quiet of the afternoon holding my head tight in his arms as I gripped on his thin black T-shirt and cried out my tears with no absolute reason. I could sense the curiosity, and the worry, in his aura. If it were me I wasn't sure I could refrain from being intrusive, but Taehyung was calm and collected and perhaps I'd trained him well, given him enough experience for such a scenario to seem minor but he'd always been of a caring nature, and he'd taken care of me all too well these past years. I admired that trait in him more than anything else. He held all the patience I lacked.

Three hours later, we were sitting in our chilly apartment right across from eachother with me having hinted at information. My cheeks were burning as an effect from the countless salty tears they'd absorbed, my vision was blurry and eyes were dry, and my head was pounding from the high of the moment. Signalling at my friend who held a steaming mug of coffee in his hands I walked to the bathroom and rinced my face with cold water, seeing myself in the mirror for the first time when I lifted my head. It was then that it hit me how bothered I was by what had happened. I looked as much of a mess as I was, and somehow looking at me, Jungkook, in the reflective surface I recalled the strength I held inside me. If I had lived through my past, I could survive this. Because infront of that, this was a small bump.

I fell onto the couch, zipping my jacket up. "Namjoon" I started, finding it hard to say the words out loud. "My mother hired him".

The dark liquid splashed out of the glass mug when Taehyung's hands dipped, expression evidently showing his disbilief. Controling himself, he swallowed harshly, then placed the warm container onto the table infront of him before sitting back in the exact position as prior; back to the cushion, legs crossed, fingers knotted and clasping on his knees. He looked both intimidating and lost. He remained tranquil, nothing but sharp breaths escaping his agape lips as he constantly came up with words to say he then didn't deem enough.